EVEN THIS WEEK
This week, I’m not sure where to begin—there’s just so much in the news. The biggest topic on my mind is Israel. The Middle East is in turmoil, with Israel defending itself amid rising tensions with surrounding Arab nations. This conflict runs deeper than politics; it is rooted in complex religious and historical divisions.
In his recent address to the United Nations, Benjamin Netanyahu invoked the Bible, framing Israel’s struggle as one of biblical proportions, referencing blessings and curses. Unfortunately, his words were met with rebuke from various world leaders, including Barbados’ Prime Minister Mia Mottley, who quoted, “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.” It felt as if the very God Netanyahu called upon—the God of both the Old and New Testaments—was being made a mockery. The significance of Jesus as a Jew, bridging both the Old and New Testaments, was notably overlooked. Israel stands as a testament to the power of the Most High, a reality often ignored in these discussions.
It seems that Arab nations are intent on eradicating an ethno-religious state simply because of its Jewish identity, all while holding firmly to their own religious beliefs. This is not merely a battle over borders or land; it’s an ideological and spiritual conflict that has raged for generations.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m watching a movie as the world spins out of control. While the Middle East burns, our televisions, phones, and other digital gadgets keep us preoccupied with materialism. America’s consumerism is like a feign for crack—we’re all addicted.
Exploitation and Hypocrisy
A recent example is Ta-Nehisi Coates, who, after spending just two weeks in Israel and Gaza, has been presenting himself as an expert while promoting his new book, The Message. I haven’t read the book yet; it’s in my Amazon cart, and I plan on purchasing it. However, from what I’ve gathered, it seems Coates conflates the struggle for reparations for Black Americans with the Palestinian plight, seemingly exploiting it for personal gain. He’s been making the media rounds, including appearances on CNN, pushing the narrative that Israel is an ethnocentric, racist, apartheid state that must be dismantled to make way for a new Arab nation called Palestine.
Coates should be ashamed of himself. He has abandoned his advocacy for reparations to capitalize on the plight of Palestinians—all in the name of selling another book. His claims of a deep-seated desire to dismantle Israel’s so-called apartheid state ring hollow, particularly when considering Israel’s minuscule land area compared to the vast expanse of the more than 20 Arab nations surrounding it. Coates’s portrayal of Israel as a giant oppressor obscures the reality: it is a small nation surrounded by far larger Arab states.
Despite being perceived as a credible voice, particularly because he is an elite Black man, Coates’s recent narrative is troubling. The most credible voices today are often those who can sell a story—even if it’s not their own. But what happens when a Black man supports a narrative defending Israel? Or endorses Donald Trump? Suddenly, he is marginalized for not aligning with the prevailing ideology in America.
Meanwhile, Israel has decided to respond decisively against Hezbollah and Hamas, who are backed by Iran and have been bombarding them with impunity. Israel is no longer holding back, and it stands firm against Iran’s provocations. While many in the U.S. acknowledge Israel’s right and responsibility to defend itself, there are those who feign concern for the so-called innocents caught in the crossfire, conveniently ignoring the complexities of cause and effect and portraying Israel as acting unprovoked.
As Coates takes advantage of the prevailing narrative to promote his book, our President and Vice President appear indecisive. One moment, they call for the release of hostages and a ceasefire; the next, their stance shifts to a ceasefire followed by the release of hostages. These shifting positions seem more like convenient talking points than genuine expressions of concern, all while the Middle East remains engulfed in turmoil.
For The Love of the Game
Now for my sisters and brothers, we seem to have a myriad of distractions to divert our attention from such profound issues. From crazy Jaguar Write to YSL and contraband. But let’s focus on Black politics. The Breakfast Club, this week featured a debate in Black politics between Angela Rye and Byron Donalds. Once again, Angela attempted to wield her so-called “Black girl magic” to transform a Republican’s stance as she argued fervently for Kamala Harris. But the debate didn’t go too well for her.
I tend to agree with Byron on most issues, but both Donalds and Harris often come across as little more than talking heads. Angela Rye, however, is different—she’s sharp, undeniably beautiful, but tends to view the world through rose-colored glasses. She sees things in shades of pale pink and denim, as if she’s moving through fields of poppies. In that mindset, she wasn’t prepared to take on Byron. Despite her effort, her arguments were more like talking points, lacking real substance.
Still, I can’t help but think—and mark my words—if Kamala Harris makes it to the White House, Angela will likely be her Press Secretary. And I’ll watch her take on the media with glee, picturing the neck rolls and eye-popping moments. Of course, I’m speculating, but there’s a reason Angela goes so hard for Kamala. She’s aiming for a White House job, and honestly, I can’t knock her hustle—she plays the role well.
In that debate, Byron kept hitting Angela upside the head with facts until it became literally uncomfortable. Everything Angela said was disputed; all she could do was regurgitate the same Democratic talking points we’ve been hearing ever since Kamala was given the green light.
While I like Byron Donalds’ way of thinking, I completely disagree with him on the issue of reparations. He doesn’t support them, and as I listened to his reasoning, it clicked—he’s the son of immigrants. He has no real allegiance to the American Black community except when it suits his public image. That’s why he can sit on The Breakfast Club and switch between being a first-generation Jamaican immigrant and identifying as a ADOS man.
Byron’s argument is that since no one alive today was a slave, and no slave owners remain, reparations aren’t necessary. But he’s missing a key point—America was built on the backs of enslaved people. My ancestors fought, worked, and bled for the freedom he now enjoys. They were never compensated for their labor, nor were their descendants. Despite the laws of the land, they were given nothing. America owes a debt that still remains unpaid and immigrants that come to America have no right to tell us anything different. But here’s a greater fact: he has done nothing for America himself. He works in financing and has a bad record; he is currently under investigation because of his investments, and he is a representative for a state—meaning he gets paid by the American government. He fits a certain narrative of the shrewd and fast-talking Black man. Nevertheless, one fact is true regarding Byron Donalds: reparations are not owed to him or his legacy.
Donalds represents a certain pan-African mindset—one that seeks to utilize the ADOS community without addressing the debt remains unpaid. Honestly, he’s just as bad as Kamala Harris in that regard, but his policies align more with my own, so I give him some grace.
Meanwhile, Israel bombed Lebanon.
Another Debate
Despite concerns, Americans took its eyes off Israel last week for at least 90-minutes, to watch the Vice Presidential debate that demanded more than a modicum of our attention. Now, I will say the debate felt boring and redundant. Then again, I’m sick of text messages and emails asking for donations and I am ready to vote. Yet, there’s no denying that JD Vance stole the show. He’s sharp and clean-cut, complete with a beard that slightly defies the norms—a touch of ruggedness that works for him and a nice politeness that reads consultant all day.
Walz is just comedic. He was talking, but nothing he said made any sense. Perhaps he was sending a message to his blue-collar supporters that he is really not like Kamala Harris. There were times when Walz agreed with Vance so much that I thought he could have been Vance’s running mate. His usual loud-mouthed, middle-class American jargon he kept hid behind politeness. Instead, Walz was much more compromising.
All these things happened last week as the war in the Middle East escalated to the point where the word “nuclear” is being whispered under breath.
Conflict of compassion
But the thing I really want to focus on is what I witnessed this past weekend in America. It sort of culminated in me questioning American values. It reminded me of the story of the old poor widow who gave her last. Not because the woman gave her last, but because the woman was being exploited, and Jesus saw the exploitation and pointed it out. I witnessed something along that same line that reminded me of that story.
I volunteered for a nonprofit, giving out free food at a park filled with homeless people, and it felt like I’d stepped into another movie and I was suddenly one of the characters in the film. what was odd is, I felt as if I was on the wrong side. I handed out the lettuce and I can’t tell you the guilt I felt as some asked for two knowing the rule was one only—with the caveat they could get right back in the line.
I understand to maintain order there are rules that should be followed but there’s something in the eyes of each of the people that wanted me to give them as much as they wanted. Or more than that I could see how they wished they didn’t have to be in a line. They wished for their own resources to purchase their own fruit. As I handed out the lettuce I kept a smile on my face but inside my heart wrecked in agony. I couldn’t imagine being on the opposite side of that lettuce and yet none of us are really exempt.
I see homeless people all the time working in Center City, but I rarely engage with them. Sometime I may give out change to homeless people, but Handing out food forced me to confront homelessness, poverty, mental illness, drug addiction and immigration. What shocked me most was the sheer number of people who are homeless and hungry in this country. It transcended race, culture, and background. There were whites, ADOS Blacks, Blacks—from Africa and the Caribbean—Hispanics and Asians all waiting in line, hoping to get more than one or two green bananas. They’d come through once and looped back around to get more.
One little Asian lady stood out to me. She kept coming through the line, over and over, until finally, the leader of the group told her no more. She walked away but lingered, passing by me with her little wheeled cart, repeating softly, “I am hungry.” She tried to re-enter the line again, and eventually, the leader had to ask her to move along.
The nonprofit leader, a man who appeared to be of Asian descent, was firm—almost harsh—with an elderly woman who repeatedly asked for more food. Watching their interaction, I couldn’t help but notice how much he looked like he could have been her grandson. There was something unspoken in his demeanor, a conflict between duty and empathy, as though the weight of maintaining order restrained him from showing compassion. His sternness masked a deeper, conflicted emotion, as if he was holding back from giving more than the rules allowed.
At one point, the woman lifted her cart to show that it was empty, but the leader remained resolute in his belief that she had received enough. I was struck by the irony—he wouldn’t have been there if not for people like her, yet here he was, denying her. Nonprofits, while necessary, often feel like a double-edged sword. They thrive on donations, but the people they claim to serve remain stuck in a cycle of dependence. It’s as if their struggles have become a business model, with nonprofits built on the backs of the vulnerable.
The scene in the park was a grim reminder of this uncomfortable truth. We offer food, but the system allows those we serve to be perpetually dependent on handouts. As I watched the desperate faces, I couldn’t help but recall the story of the poor widow who gave her last coin. Jesus highlighted her sacrifice to show the exploitation of the rich, who focused on the gift rather than the individual. In that park, I saw something similar. Many were not just seeking food; they were seeking recognition of their humanity.
In that moment, as I watched him hold back food, I realized that the leader wasn’t just trying to ration supplies. He, like me, was caught in the tension between doing what seems fair and what feels right. Nonprofits walk that line every day—caught between helping people in need and maintaining order in a system that often falls short. It’s this contradiction that challenges both their mission and my view of what charity should be.
Jesus said, “The poor will always be with you.” He wasn’t telling us to accept their plight as inevitable but rather urging us to pay attention. As long as humanity exists, there will be exploitation of the weak. The homeless, hungry, displaced, addicted, and mentally ill are prime material for nonprofits. That’s why organizations like UNRWA thrive—they’re like bottom feeders in a broken system.
To be clear, I’m not suggesting that American nonprofits are as wicked as UNRWA, but without proper caution and oversight, there’s a danger they could become something similar—a new version of organizations that keep women and children trapped in camps for generation in places like Sudan and Jordan.
Volunteering that day reminded me that God’s command to love our neighbor goes deeper than just doing good. It’s about giving of ourselves fully, even to the point of sacrifice. And yet, as I reflect on my own actions, I realize how far I am from truly embodying that kind of love.
In truth, that nonprofit leader was a lot like me—caught between duty and compassion, balancing the need for order with the desire to help. He was doing what he believed was right, just as I was trying to do good in my own way. But in the end, both of us held something back, afraid to give more than what was asked. That tension is something we all face: knowing we could do more, yet unsure how far we’re willing to go.
Saturday, after volunteering, I went home to a house filled with my grandkids and their parents, rushing around getting ready for a football game. The house was warm and smelled of baked chicken that had been in the oven ready for dinner when they returned. I can’t express how this simple scene filled my heart with warmth—how easy it is to take such things for granted, yet how priceless they are. That sense of happiness and satisfaction grounded me, offering a momentary reprieve from the harsh realities that exists outside. As the world continues to turn—Israel under siege, the Middle East at war, people homeless and hungry, mentally ill and addicted—I’m reminded that, just like last week, God is still in control...
